The Value of Freedom
Prologue
I do not own the rights to Freedom Fighters.
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Through the foggy mist and brisk wind gusts, Rayner Spence could barely see the faded outline of the yawning Soviet patrol. It was early morning, about four to be precise, and the majority of the enemy troops were still dreaming of a hopeful victory in this chaotic scuffle between themselves and the few remaining rebels. The band of rebels refer to themselves as Freedom Fighters; a group doing whatever it takes to bring down the communistic Soviets and restore justice and democracy for good.
"Rayner, shouldn't we be on our toes? They could wake up any minute," whispered Lee, gazing through the musty conditions toward the Soviet stronghold.
Lee Benson, a short, muscular man in his early thirties, was definitely the best built and fit of the four Freedom Fighters. With experience in the Armed Forces, Lee was a force to be reckoned with.
"Just be patient Lee. We need to wait for that patrol to start his route toward the other side, allowing us a cleaner insertion into the encampment," responded Rayner.
"Always worried about being caught, aren't you Rayner?" questioned Alvarez, peering through a small hole in the grey, deteriorating brick wall the group was utilizing for coverage.
"When you've been in this business for eleven years, you tend to savor your life more and more," Rayner whispered, making sure he didn't create a disturbance in the chilly morning air.
The group has been scouting the area for the past six hours, cramming in every little detail into their war-minded brains. At last, after enduring the bitter conditions and numerous leg cramps, Rayner was finally ready to make his move. Without creating a sound, he moved to the end of the wall, crouched, and leaned his back alongside it, ready to pivot on his cue.
He studied the Soviet patrol as he slowly made his way toward the eastern side of the structure. Rayner took a deep breath, exhaled, and started toward the opposite side of the stronghold.
Slowly, he made his progress with the others a couple of steps behind. Without taking his eyes off the now staggering patrol, Rayner was oblivious to what was ahead of him. Rayner's next step is one that he'll remember for years; one that will haunt him forever.
The dry, autumn leaves crunching beneath his feet were all that was needed to alert the patrol. The Soviet promptly spun around and met the gaze of the experienced Freedom Fighter.
"Dammit. Everyone, head for the sewer!" Rayner shouted to his colleagues.
But before they could even budge, the patrol sent the alert throughout the whole camp. The stronghold suddenly lit up, and the soldiers inside awoke like bees in a hive. Rayner knew they would have to move fast, or they would never make it out alive.
Benson and Alvarez sprinted toward the unopened manhole, about one hundred yards away. Rayner, on the other hand, took careful aim and fired a bullet into the patrol, knocking him to the ground instantly, blood soaking his camouflaged uniform.
The doors of the stronghold flung open, and mobs of Soviets rushed out of each one, death glaring in every pair of eyes. Alvarez looked back and couldn't believe what he saw. Panicking, his legs ran into each other, and he fell to the concrete, just ten yards short of the manhole.
Rayner and Benson, both making it to the manhole safely, looked back to see their comrade on the street, shaking nervously, unable to force himself up. Before they could help him, it was too late. A group of six or seven surrounded him, one holding him at gunpoint.
The Russian holding the gun looked up at Rayner and said in a strong, Russian tone, "This one's for you, Freedom Fighter!" And with that, he squeezed the trigger, killing Alvarez instantly. Rayner and Benson jumped into the manhole, knowing that they would never forget what happened.